A Mind of its Own

by Martyn Ford

  ‘Timothy, I have an idea,’ Phil said from his shirt pocket.

  ‘Is it get shot and then die?’ Dee said out of the side of her mouth. ‘Cos I think that’s pretty doable.’

  ‘No, it is better than that.’

  ‘I’m all ears,’ Tim said, staring into the distance, past the lights, at all those gun barrels.

  ‘It is going to hurt,’ Phil said. ‘A lot.’

  ‘What is?’

  The monkey scurried up Tim’s chest and on to his shoulder. ‘The chip in your neck,’ Phil whispered.

  The chip in my neck, Tim thought to himself, moving it around under his skin with his index finger. The small device that was stopping him from instantly projecting whatever he could imagine into the real world. The tiny piece of technology that was keeping sabre-toothed tigers, fire and who knows what else caged up in his mind.

  ‘We said: hands above your head!’ Stephen’s voice echoed again, now with anger, as he turned round and faced them.

  The monkey stroked the short pink scar on Tim’s neck. ‘Sharp teeth,’ Phil whispered. ‘I will, of course, require your consent.’

  Tensing his jaw, Tim nodded. ‘Do it.’

  A moment of spectacular pain – it felt like a pair of pliers pinching his skin. But, a second later, in what seemed slow motion, Tim saw Phil spit something out. He watched the chip glisten and spin and fall in front of him. Still glossed slightly red with his blood, it clattered to the concrete at his feet. His hearing was whirring, everything seemed dizzy, out of focus. Pressing his sleeve into his fresh wound he stepped forwards and crushed the piece of metal under his shoe.

  This was apparently enough movement – or maybe Stephen had anticipated the potential danger. Either way, he lifted his megaphone and turned to his men.

  ‘Open fire,’ he said.

  And, without a moment’s hesitation, they did.

  Chapter 21

  Across Hawk Peak Prison’s large courtyard, behind the glare of searchlights, little orange stars were appearing and disappearing. Hundreds of gun muzzles flashing in the dark – it really was quite a sight, Tim thought, calmly. Phil was hidden back in Tim’s top pocket and Dee had covered her head, turned and curled downwards towards the ground. This was a fairly reasonable way to react to incoming gunfire, after all.

  It was pretty outrageous, actually, Tim thought now – his ears still whirring from the pain of Phil’s bite. Sure, they probably knew him as the kid who could conjure a cobra with the power of his mind and he was, of course, a security-level-five most-wanted suspect, whatever that meant. But shooting unarmed children? That sounded far worse than all the things he’d done combined.

  All these thoughts played out in less time than it takes to blink. And then …

  His hearing came back – an insane roar of gunshots and ricochets and carnage as bullets zipped and pinged and sparked off the half dome of glass that had appeared. Tim hadn’t consciously imagined that a bulletproof shield would materialise between them and the firing squad – it had just kind of happened. In the same way you automatically blink when something approaches your face, Tim’s subconscious was just taking care of business.

  The gunfire stopped for a moment and the wide sheet of thick glass – frosted and cracked – tilted and fell heavily on the ground, exposing them again.

  Dee lowered her arms from her face, looking up to Tim and then to the guards. She was glaring – maybe in shock, maybe excitement. He had previously explained that he had this ability – telling her how unstable and dangerous it was, hence the chip – but he supposed actually seeing it in action was still quite incredible for her.

  Up ahead, Stephen and the Grey Guards were waiting – waiting for something else to happen, waiting for an explanation, Tim couldn’t be sure. But quiet and waiting they remained.

  The alarm bell clicked off now and the parked helicopter’s blades were still. No one spoke. No one moved.

  There was silence …

  One thing Tim had noticed about Hawk Peak Prison was that it was quite grey. Sparse. No colour. No music. No soul.

  ‘This place needs some … imagination,’ Tim said, helping Dee to her feet.

  He turned to face the guards, bowed his head and lifted his hands as though he was surrendering. But, instead, he took a slow breath in and, as he exhaled, pushed his palms forwards and set his mind free. A wide and tall invisible wall of air opened up, like a portal to some other dimension, and out came everything Tim could imagine.

  It was a stampede, a charging army, everything appearing all at once just in front of them, spread evenly across the entire width of the courtyard and running forwards, towards the guards. There were giant rhinos, bear-sharks scrambling over each other, a T. rex emerging and lowering its head for an angry war cry. A marching band to the left, dressed smartly in red-and-white blazers, thumping drums and cymbals and trumpets, their music louder than gunfire as they marched confidently forwards in formation.

  A pair of long, dark green dragons spiralled out into existence, flying up and curving over themselves above, like giant eels in a tank, thick flares of fire criss-crossing as heavy wings sent harsh winds down on to the guards below. Creatures beyond description, monsters of every kind, stomped and barged and yelled. A giant, a Cyclops, some kind of awful badger thing threw a car. Some terrifying, others simply ridiculous. Parts of the courtyard erupting now in a fountain of liquid chocolate or a spew of lava or a torrent of water or a frenzy of frogs. One corner seemed dedicated to jam, another to the jungle.

  Colours exploded above, reds and yellows and blues, neon pinks and fluorescent greens, powdered paint and fireworks lighting up and spreading a vibrant fog. Within these clouds, forks of lightning fired overhead like synapses in a brain.

  There were paper lanterns and other inanimate objects too, chairs and tables rolling amid the carnage, and things Tim had seen or idly thought about years ago – distant memories finding form. Strange pieces of metal and wood – raw materials and odd bits of matter appearing for reasons Tim would never understand. Some objects simply coming into existence in mid-air then falling to the ground. He saw a sack of carrots tumble in the middle of a horde of what looked like rabbits with wheels – an odd hybrid of a toy he had once seen. Behind that a full-sized galleon smashed down and rolled over, sliding into the concrete, broken wood, slack sails and ropes, pirates leaping and swinging into action.

  For Tim, it felt as though all his childhood sketchpads were coming alive, as though they were being held open and shaken.

  Most of all, the whole experience was liberating, a huge relief. Before he had been on his toes, worried about creating the wrong thing, worried about his imagination getting out of hand. But now he was letting it roam free off the leash. And the results looked and felt equally brilliant. There it all went, doing battle with Stephen’s army of armed clones.

  Things were still materialising – fairy lights running the hundreds of metres around the prison, fairground banners and confetti – as Tim scanned across, searching amid the insanity. There. He spotted Stephen, clutching the metal imagination station to his chest, darting, scared, through a door and inside the East Wing.

  ‘Come on,’ Tim said, stepping back towards the window they’d come through, pulling Dee by her hand.

  Getting around was easier now. When Tim came to a locked door or, in this instance, a brick wall, he just raised a hand and imagined it replaced by thin air. And, with a fizzle and crumble of dust, the wall simply opened up. They entered the prison together, leaving the medley outside. With a casual wave, Tim made the wall reappear behind them, without even looking.

  ‘Tim, wait,’ Dee said. ‘This is … this is crazy.’ The chaos outside was still loud – there was music, shouting and even the odd explosion and distant clatter of panicked gunfire.

  ‘Did I spy a dinosaur in amongst all that?’ Phil added.

  ‘Probably a few.’ Tim nodded.

  ‘All those Grey Guards, will they be OK?’ Dee asked.r />
  ‘If they’ve got any sense, they’ll run away,’ Tim said. ‘Look, Stephen went into the East Wing. We’ve still got to get the imagination station, all right? Quickly too. This ability of mine is not entirely a good thing.’

  ‘Why didn’t he just use it in the basement?’

  ‘I dunno. I guess he has to charge it up? And he’ll need somewhere quiet to concentrate. All I know is that while we’re here, alive and walking around, there is still a chance.’

  ‘All right,’ Dee said. ‘This way.’ She pointed to a sign to the East Wing above them.

  They ran down the corridors, past inmates locked in their cells – all of whom were at their windows which were glowing and flashing like television screens. Everywhere smelled faintly of candyfloss, freshly cooked doughnuts and clean, salty air. Tim had thought briefly of the seaside.

  ‘Smells lovely,’ Dee said.

  Arriving in the East Wing of the prison, they crossed a few abandoned security checkpoints – all the staff were outside and most of these cells were empty. Then, with a clunk, all the lights went out, the prison’s backup power whirring on a second later, lighting everything faintly blue. It was gloomy and cold in here, the exact opposite to outside.

  Tim managed to melt one locked door by imagining heat – they stepped carefully over a glowing glob of white-hot metal. Another locked door he turned to jelly, which they simply pushed down. It was easier to create strange things, with specific textures and smells, he found. If his mind wandered, his abilities faded. He was betting that Stephen couldn’t move around the prison as quickly as them, and was hoping he was hiding somewhere in this wing. All they had to do was find him.

  ‘So, Timothy, did you create that eclectic mix of creatures outside to be kind to us?’ Phil asked, licking some lemon door-jelly from his fingers.

  ‘Yeah, that’s a good point,’ Dee said, jogging along. ‘I’m sure some of that madness will have made it inside.’

  ‘I … no, not really,’ Tim said. ‘I didn’t really think about any of them, I just let it all out.’

  ‘Tell you what you should create: a tracking device,’ Dee added. ‘Or … or a sniffer dog—’

  There was a noise up ahead. Tim stopped and grabbed Dee by the shoulder. Something round the corner was snuffling and breathing.

  ‘What is that?’ Dee asked.

  A long shadow at first, then the sound of hooves clip-clopping on the tiled floor. At the end of the hall a perfectly white horse emerged. It brayed and stood noble and proud. A tail flicked, its thick muscles twitched, velvety hair glistening in the half-light. It was a surreal thing to see in a narrow prison corridor.

  ‘Whoa,’ Dee said, sighing in relief. ‘A horse. Something nice for once.’

  Then Tim noticed a long horn in the centre of the animal’s head.

  ‘That is no horse,’ Phil said. ‘That is a unicorn.’

  ‘Hang on.’ Tim couldn’t even remember creating the creature, but something about the way it stood filled him with fear.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Dee added.

  However, when the animal turned and spotted them, it completely changed. It lowered its head, rolled back its lips and hissed. Tim saw that it had fangs and wild red eyes.

  ‘Ah,’ Phil said. ‘I note with interest that it appears to be quite the predator.’ There was a smug, I-told-you-so tone.

  ‘This doesn’t prove anything,’ Tim whispered, stepping backwards slowly. ‘You just planted the idea in my head.’

  With a deafening screech, the unicorn broke into a crazed gallop, hurtling towards them.

  ‘What?’ Dee stood stunned.

  ‘Timothy, quickly, create a wall or a trap or something,’ Phil yelled.

  ‘All right,’ Tim said as the creature charged, its mad scream rising.

  He concentrated hard but, instead of a solution, he created more problems. Another unicorn appeared at the end of the corridor, behind the first one.

  ‘Gosh, what peril,’ Phil said.

  ‘I can’t,’ Tim yelled. ‘I can’t get my thoughts straight. No, no, no.’ He held up his hands and scrunched his face.

  Just before it arrived, Dee shoved Tim against the wall and dived to the floor on the other side of the corridor. The heavy beast swung its horn – a razor-pointed sting – which cut through the air, just missing Tim’s face. It scrambled, slipping clumsily on the tiles and sliding on its side into a metal detector, sending a swivel chair spinning as it kicked out with strong legs.

  ‘Obviously run,’ Dee said as the unicorn rose quickly and began to chase them again.

  The second one had also joined in and, now, another one too. Running desperately down the nearby prison corridor, Tim looked over his shoulder to see all of them in pursuit. Two white ones and a larger, scarier, black one.

  ‘Ah, there’s three of them,’ Dee shouted as they turned a corner, hooves and snapping jaws slamming against the wall behind.

  ‘I think they hunt in packs,’ Phil yelled.

  ‘Shut up, Phil,’ Tim said.

  ‘The big one is the alpha,’ the monkey added. ‘Just like velociraptors.’

  They arrived in a large cafeteria area and pushed quickly through doors into a quiet kitchen.

  Tim had almost forgotten about the chaos outside. It was only when he looked through the window and saw two huge animals, which he could only describe as bat-dolphins with knives for feet, did he wish he’d been less creative with his artwork. So much weird stuff in his brain, he thought.

  But at least most of that was out there. In here they had to contend with a pack of bloodthirsty unicorns, which were now sniffing the air and stalking between the long dining tables in the cafeteria next door. Tim shoved a chair under the door handle and they crouched.

  Dee held a finger to her lips. The sound of hooves on the hard floor was terrifying, but thankfully it was getting quieter and quieter.

  ‘I suspect,’ Phil whispered, ‘that a unicorn’s predisposition to ultraviolence is territorial. We must give them space.’

  After a while Tim turned his head and couldn’t hear them any more.

  ‘OK, I think they’ve lost us,’ he whispered, gently opening the door an inch to peep. The coast looked clear. He turned back to Dee. ‘Let’s be quick and—’

  A head smashed inside, writhing and screeching. Tim shouted a swear word as he fell away, knocked to the floor. The creature was stuck there, the door lodged in place with the chair.

  Tim bounced back to his feet and they circled through the other kitchen door into the cafeteria. One of the remaining unicorns struck, but Dee kicked over a table – it slammed its horn through the wood, leaving it stuck in place over its eyes. Panicked, it shook its head and ran straight into a wall, knocking itself clean out.

  Two down, one to go.

  Tim and Dee left the cafeteria and ran the length of two long corridors and round another corner, arriving at the foot of a wide stairwell. They went straight up to the second floor and peered down over the bannister, catching their breath and checking the third and final animal – the alpha – had given up the chase. However, it appeared below them, searching the air for a scent like a hunting dog.

  ‘We can relax,’ Dee said. ‘I’m ninety per cent sure horses can’t go upstairs, so I’m guessing unicorns can’t either.’

  Its neck jerked up and its eyes locked on them. ‘Oh yes we can,’ it said in a horribly gurgled, demonic voice.

  ‘What the … It can talk? That makes them so much worse,’ Dee said. ‘Tim, what the hell is wrong with you?’

  ‘Blame Phil.’

  ‘Who you also created?’

  ‘She’s got you there, old sonny chap.’

  The unicorn was coming up the stairs now, mumbling in its hissing, monstrous voice. ‘Imma eat you, gonna munch-munch your face. Yum, yum, yum-yum-yum,’ with each clumsy step.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ Dee said.

  Again, they ran – only to find themselves at a dead end. They turned to see the awfu
l thing standing right there, just a couple of metres away. It was by a large window, lit strangely blue in the dawn light. Tim supposed much of the chaos outside had eased by this point as it was quieter now.

  ‘I can’t die like this,’ Dee said, pressing against the wall. ‘It’s too weird.’

  The unicorn slunk low, growling and exposing its dripping fangs. With a final snarl, it pounced, but—

  A vast mass of scaled flesh and teeth smashed through the window by its side, crumbling bricks with ease. In a blink, the unicorn was slammed into the opposite wall, squeezed between huge dragon jaws. And, almost as quick as it arrived, the giant head pulled out and disappeared through a gaping hole in the side of the prison, a few pieces of concrete and rubble falling into the corridor. A wire sparked in the cold air, illuminating the blood and glitter left behind.

  ‘Well, I say,’ Phil whispered.

  They continued through the dark prison and, realising Stephen could have hidden anywhere, Tim calmed himself down and did what Dee suggested, creating a sniffer dog – a Labrador. It had polka dots and a pink tail, for which he could only apologise. But it did its job well. It took off running quickly, leading them further upstairs and on to the roof.

  The dog – named Barry in honour of Barry – looked up at a tall guard tower on the corner of the prison building and barked twice.

  Sure enough, in the window, Tim could see a figure looking down at all the commotion in the courtyard. A lot of the creatures were fighting each other now – the marching band still dutifully providing the soundtrack. There was an insane amount of mess too. The courtyard looked like a giant, cluttered toy box – just too much random activity to even begin to explain. Tim couldn’t tell where one creation began and the next ended.

  One thing he did spot though, lurching in the jungle area, was a red monster. It was an exact copy of the beast Clarice Crowfield had accidently created with her imagination box – the image of it obviously still clear in Tim’s mind.

  ‘Really is strange all that,’ Dee whispered, looking over the railing.